Camp Bores in Wyoming

Ready to hit the road for the 2.5 hour drive to Sugarloaf Campground, Wyoming.

this post was written weeks ago. over a month ago actually, on Labor Day weekend, from the comfort of our house on wheels. imagine, if you will...

It’s Saturday morning, approximately 11:15AM and I am sitting at the dinette inside our camper. I have a fall candle lit beside me, a cup of warm apple cider in a mug, and I am looking out the window at the incredibly picturesque Medicine Bow Mountain Range. It’s approximately 49 degrees outside and 56 degrees inside. Mr. B had informed me to prepare for a cool, fall weekend. I packed a bag full of flannels and leggings, but didn't realize I needed winter boots, a jacket, hat and gloves.

This campground sits at 10,700 feet in elevation, which means we are near tree line, the temps are significantly cooler than where we live, and the wind is much stronger.  It's nearly fecking winter up here, even during the first week of September. With that said, the views are some of the best. 

We arrived in the pouring rain Friday afternoon. I swear every single #campbores trip this year we’ve set up in the rain. My favorite. Insert sarcasm.

When the thunder ceased and the rain became a sprinkle, we laced up our boots and explored the water front.  See those sexy Sorel boots on my feet (below)? Yep, those were my birthday gift this year. And let me tell you, my toes would be frostbitten by now, if I didn’t have them. Slight exaggeration, but really they are the WARMEST BOOTS EVER.

The reflection, well those are Mr. B's favorite photos. Unfortunately, it was the ONLY time the entire weekend that the water was calm enough to capture these mirrored images. Hence, why you won't see any photos of us in that canoe. There was no way I was going to paddle against the current. Who am I kidding, Mr. B never lets me paddle because for some reason I can't master the concept of paddling like a normal person and end up causing us to nearly sink with the amount of water I splash inside. 

When back at camp, Mr. B realized all of the wood he wanted to forage was soaking wet - blame the fecking rain. We needed some dry wood to at least start the fire, so we jumped in Big Red and headed to the nearest small town – Centennial. It blows my mind that people live in a town with one Mercantile, a Friendly Store (that sells 6 day old bread), and three dive bars. We never did find dry wood for sale, but did find ourselves inside one of the said bars cheer-sing to my birthday.  The friendly bartender offered us empty beer boxes to start our fire in place of dry wood. Nice man.

A combination of a cardboard and a half bottle of lighter fluid girl scout juice, we finally had warmth.  The campsites are pretty close to each other here, so while Scott was behind our site looking for more wood to burn, one of the young girl’s at the campsite next to us, yelled to her siblings, “Look guys, it’s a real lumberjack!” Mr. B was dressed in boots, carhartt pants, and a flannel shirt, with an ax thrown over his shoulder. That young girl has good taste - real men wear flannel and chop wood. He's alllllll mine.

We bundled up, cracked some beers (my new favorite, Brombeere - a german style sour wheat beer), and made ourselves a too-spicy pasta dinner. We also had plans to make a pumpkin pie to celebrate my birthday, but decided to save it for another night when our friends would be there an help us devour the whip cream pie! Turns out, we never actually made the damn pie, suppose we'll save that idea for next year. This 29 year old girl still had to blow out a candle, so we stuck one in the pasta dish. Don't ask us how many matches we lit before I actually got to it before the wind.

Saturday morning we woke up to the bustling wind, drank some coffee and tea and decided to put our brand new cast iron waffle maker to use. Aside from nearly setting our camper on fire, while trying to season it, I would say it turned into a successful breakfast. According to my husband, it was quite obvious I had never seasoned cast iron before and I am not quite sure he will ever let me do it again. My reply? There’s a first time for everything, even if it means setting the fire alarm off in the middle of the fecking woods. Yes that happened. Oops. Too bad a fireman couldn't save me out here. #nophoneservice

By day time, we explored the surrounding area, visited some old mining equipment, prayed at the outdoor church, soaked up the gorgeous views, and waited for our friends to join us.

Back at camp, we helped Chad and Danielle get set up and then the men started a forest fire. Not really, but they foraged enough wood that we certainly could have. We called it an early night, but never really slept. I worried all night that the wind gusts were going to pick up Chad's tent and twirl them in the air like a tornado. Scott laid wide awake listening to the whipping wind. Chad forgot a pillow and learned sleeping on a rolled up jacket leads to a kinked neck. And Danielle, the non-camper of the group, slept like a baby, while the rain soaked the outside of their tent. #unfair

Sunday morning, we crowded around the camper, snuggled under blankets, feeling the heat of Mr. Buddy, sipping coffee with yogurt chips (oh wait, that was just Chad), and smelling the fried bacon Mr. B was cooking on the stove. Then bundled up and went for a walk to take in the views, snap selfies and let Danielle practice with her new camera.

More friends joined us later in the day, so we wandered the water front again, let the dogs romp around, took way too many group photo attempts, sat fire side and let Sam serenade us. Who knew elevation could change the sound of your voice? Perhaps the lack of oxygen has something to do with that. These pals even brought along a personalized birthday cake that we all devoured. It was the perfect end to a ridiculously windy and chilly weekend. But those views, friends and stories, made it totally worth it. Thanks for making me feel so loved.

Until next year, Wyoming.